


a shred of comfort

by ottermo



Series: As Prompted [16]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Humans 30 Day Fanworks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: Fills 27, 29 and 30 from 'the' Humans fanwork challenge on tumblr.(Confession/Hidden/Tomorrow)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The end is in sight! I'm nearly done backdating these. This is the last set of little ones, then there's one more single, then I'll leave the tag in peace (for a bit...)
> 
> Anyway, here are three short vignettey things. The first two are series 1 based, and the third is kind of a future-y one, I guess, and probably canon divergent by now. Written way back in April, before we had series 2. (Life before Nistrid??? wut)

 

 

**confession**

The day after they say goodbye to Mia and the others, just when Toby is getting the sinking feeling of everything going back to normal, Mum calls a family meeting. 

She doesn’t say that’s what it is, she just says, _I have something important to tell you_ , and for a second Toby remembers being seven and having a conversation about babies: specifically, the one who would turn out to be Sophie. But it can’t be that again, surely. He’s not entirely sure when is Too Late for that sort of thing, but….well, it’s not that Mum’s old, exactly, it’s just…. 

He shakes the thought away. Concentrate. 

His mother is holding a photograph album, and she flips it open to show a picture of two young children, a girl and a boy, in stripey tops and matching grins. At first, Toby thinks it might be Mattie and himself, something about the eyes and nose seems familiar, but the photo has that sort of fuzzy feeling of being old, so it can’t be. Mum points at the boy in the picture, the one who isn’t Toby but could be. “This is your uncle Tom." 

And a bit like looking through the kaleidoscope stashed on his top shelf, everything in Toby’s world shifts again. 

He hates how she has to tell the story, like it’s a confession through a grating in a film, like she’s scared of what they’ll think of her. Her _family_. And Mats and Dad already know, Toby can tell from their faces, and Sophie physically cannot bear grudges, which means it’s Toby she’s worried about, Toby she thinks might reject her. 

He thinks back to lying on the ground, frightened more by her shouting than by the accident. He understands more, now, the look in her eyes, the terror, even after she knew he wasn’t seriously hurt. 

The next time he walks Sophie home from school, he keeps a tight grip on her hand. 

 

 

 

**hidden**

It was quality control, mostly. Analysing the produce, sampling data for texture, shade, and hue. Some of them were authorised to adjust the concentration of the different kinds of fertiliser, too, but Fred’s duties were watering and sample selection. Checking for impurities.

The biggest impurity on the whole plantation, of course, was Fred himself. Itchingly alive among the empty circuitry of his companions.

At first it was a constant effort, but he’d stopped trying so hard by now, let the movements become automatic. Sometimes he still had to remind himself to relax his face, not focus or frown or express anything. Particularly not mind-numbing boredom. Dollies didn’t get bored, that was the beauty of them. 

Every daylight hour, picking, checking, nurturing the plants until they brought forth fruit. Growth was everywhere here, but Fred still felt as though he was decaying, shrivelling. Sometimes he would pause a while with a leaf between his fingers and imagine Max and Leo inspecting it for collection, or Niska listing the Latin name and genus, or Mia studying it carefully in order to recreate it in watercolour. But he never allowed the spectres to stay too long in his mind during work hours, pushing them aside before anyone noticed his pause in productivity.

Only in the night, when all the other Synths sat perfectly still at their charging points, did Fred allow himself a shred of comfort. He’d slip his hand behind the power bank and draw out the phone, the only link that was left. He waited for new messages, and if none came, he reread the old ones, ran fingers over the tiny keypad, rehearsing how he’d reply to the text that finally told him to run. _Not long now, Fred._ He read the words in Max’s voice, in Leo’s, in his own. 

 

 

 

**tomorrow**

In its better days, it might have been called a minibus, but it’s barely holding together now and Laura’s glad that it’s Niska, not herself or Joe, at the wheel. Niska’s reactions are faster and better, she’ll have much more chance of getting them safely to their destination in one piece.

Where their destination is, exactly, Laura isn’t sure, but Mia and Niska have assured them they’ll be safe there. Or as safe as they can reasonably promise, given that the Hawkinses are now on the run just like them. _Once we were your refuge_ , Laura reflects, _now it’s you having to look after us_. That’s friendship, she supposes. Friendship and necessity, anyway. 

There are three seats in the front of the ramshackle bus, and Leo and Mattie are slotted in beside Niska, talking in low voices about _next moves_ and _double encryption_ and _biding our time_ , the one that scares Laura most. They might not have the time going spare, at this rate.

Toby is desperately trying to stay awake between Max and Fred, in the second row. Every now and then Laura can see his head nodding slightly before he jolts awake, and she wishes she had a pillow or something to make him more comfortable, let him know it’s all right to sleep, that he doesn’t have to be superhuman, just because they’re all suddenly living in an action film. 

Joe’s right at the back, sitting diagonally in his chair so he can see out of the grimy back window, checking for any vehicle that might be following them. So far, there doesn’t seem to be one. Niska had been fairly confident that nobody had recognised her, but Joe had insisted that you couldn’t be too careful. Certainly, if they’d been just a little more careful they might not be on the road now, unsure where they’d sleep tonight.

Sophie sits in between Laura and Mia, swapping every now and then to lean against one or another of them, whenever she gets cramped in one position. She yawns, and Laura looks down at her. “Are you OK, sleepyhead?”

“Mmmmm,” Sophie mumbles back. “Are we nearly there?”

Laura silently defers to Mia. “Soon, little mouse,” she says. “Try and get some sleep. Maybe we’ll have arrived by the time you wake up.”

Sophie considers this. “What are we going to do tomorrow?” she asks, and this time neither of them have a proper answer for her. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Laura says eventually. “But Mia’s right, have a little sleep. It’s ages past bedtime.”

Her own eyelids are heavy too, but in herself she’s wide awake, alert and alive in a way she didn’t know she was capable of before today. 

No-one can say what will happen tomorrow, if they’ll finish it safe and together or not. Dawn is not far off now, though, so they don’t have long to wait. 

Laura says a silent prayer to Max’s god, the one who grants impossible wishes like _look after them, look after us all._  She hopes somebody hears. 

 

 


End file.
